Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty–one
- Twenty–two
- Twenty–three
- Twenty–four
- Twenty–five
- Twenty–six
- Twenty–seven
- Twenty–eight
- Twenty–nine
- Thirty
- Thirty–one
- Thirty–two
- Thirty–three
- Thirty–four
- Thirty–five
- Thirty–six
- Thirty–seven
- Thirty–eight
- Thirty–nine
- Forty
- Forty–one
- Forty–two
- Forty–three
- Forty–four
- Forty–five
- Forty–six
- Forty–seven
- Forty–eight
- Forty–nine
- Fifty
- Fifty–one
- Fifty–two
- Fifty–three
- Fifty–four
- Fifty–five
- Fifty–six
- Fifty–seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
“So how does it feel?” The guy broke the silence after fidgeting around in his seat, shifting his hands back and forth over the steering wheel. He had a soft southern accent like Beaufort’s that showed he was from this area. Beaufort wanted to show that he was the one with power, and not just an ex-con at the mercy of a driver. So he took a good long time before he said, “How does what feel?”
“Being out. After all this time.”
Beaufort sniffed the air and found it strangely free of the stench of urine and antiseptic cleaning solution. “I’ll have to get used to being able to bend over and pick up the soap.”
The guy opened his mouth wide and laughed like it was a joke. “I hear you’re someone to be reckoned with,” the guy said.
“Some might say that,” Beaufort replied.
The guy said, “I can see you’re tough, you got this mean vibe coming off you, but Yanchak tells me you were in on that Three Strikes and Life deal.”
“Yanchak should mind his own business.” Beaufort didn’t want to totally put the guy in his place because he needed the ride to the bus station and he didn’t want to piss off Yanchak, whom he would need later. But he’d just as soon the guy shut up and let him view the scenery to see what had changed in thirty years.
The guy did not shut up. “So that was in the eighties, right? I wasn’t born yet. If they caught you three times you got a mandatory life sentence.” He twitched as if feeling the sentence. “Man, that’s rough. I was thinking you might be pretty tough, but man, who actually gets caught three times?” He talked like other men might, making fun of someone and calling it conversation.
Not just a junky, but a stupid junky. Beaufort didn’t respond. The thing he hated most was someone implying he wasn’t smart. He didn’t let anyone get away with this kind of talk inside, but it would only be a half hour or so and he’d never see the guy again. Beaufort stepped back out of his own head, noted his restraint, and admired it.
His silence, though, appeared to make the guy bolder. “So what is it with that, how did you happen to get caught three times? I mean, once, maybe twice at the outside, but you have to be pretty dumb or just careless to get caught three times.”